


By Shapes and Sizes

by pukeandcry



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Cheer Up Sex, M/M, Spanking, Under-negotiated Kink, semi-rough sex, under-negotiated Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 05:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10847811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pukeandcry/pseuds/pukeandcry
Summary: Jamie feels shitty after they don't make the playoffs. Tyler can think of a couple ways to cheer him up. Most of them involve him getting naked.





	By Shapes and Sizes

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't fully sure how to tag for all of this, since there's mentions of several different kinks and semi-rough sex with not super great communication and navigation beforehand, but everything is consensual and there aren't any bad feelings (about the sex, at least. There are bad hockey feelings, however). The most prominent is spanking, and there are also passing mentions of hair pulling, some eroticized derogatory name-calling, face slapping, and a mention of daddy kink (with neither of the characters digging it, though). If I blew it and missed something that ought to be warned for please let me know and I'll fix that!

The thing is. The _thing_ is, that Tyler knows exactly how bad it sucks to lose. Or worse, to not even get the chance to lose in the first place. Not clinching a playoffs spot _sucks_. It’s a totally different beast than losing a game straight up. At least then, you had a shot; at puck drop, everyone has the exact same chance to win, even if you’re the underdog, even if it seems impossible.

When you’re stuck sitting at home on your couch watching another team on TV, though, well. No way to win that one, no matter how scrappy you are. 

Sometimes Tyler wonders if it’s worse to know what it’s like to win, to actually _hold_ the Cup, to know exactly what that thrill is like, how you can feel it in your heart and your dick and everywhere else, and then to not even – but that’s stupid, maybe.

That was different, anyway.

The point is: it sucks. The day they’d officially ended their season, Tyler had taken a bottle of really expensive whiskey into his hot tub to sulk, which he’d promised his mom he wouldn’t do anymore because she has these like, visions of him passing out in there and drowning and turning into soup, but he thinks if he’s ever allowed to break that promise, it’s the day he has to clear his shit out of the Hangar until September. He deserves to be pissy and sad and alone and drunk and warm for a while.

Nobody becomes a hockey player because they like to lose.

Jamie, though. Jamie’s taking it _hard_.

And not in the ways Tyler’s used to from other teammates. Jamie isn’t partying too hard, or breaking sticks out of frustration, or blaming anyone else on the team for whatever tiny fuck-up from months ago they’ve decided was the tipping point. Jamie just turns it all inward. Tyler can practically see the banner headlines scrolling through Jamie’s brain: _everything bad that’s happened happened because of you._

What that looks like, mostly, is Jamie being quiet and distant, even for him. He’s suddenly a lot like the Jamie Tyler met when he first got to Dallas – an insanely good hockey player, an insanely good _dude_ , and fully incapable of giving himself any credit for it. Tyler’s put in some serious man hours trying to beat it into Jamie’s head that he’s a good captain and that it’s okay to relax and just, like, _enjoy_ it where he can, and he’s had decent success at it. Jamie laughs way more now, and that’s, like. That’s pretty cool. Jamie should always be laughing that much, in Tyler’s opinion. He’s got a good laugh.

But disappointed Jamie is disappointed in _himself_ Jamie, and that turns into isolating himself: days of avoiding all of Tyler’s texts, his offers to bring over food or beer or movies or any of the shit they usually do together when one of them is feeling like shit, or even just because it’s a weekend and they’re bored. Tyler can just _tell_ that Jamie’s stuck too deep in his own head, probably really earnestly thinking shit like _I don’t deserve Segs’ Chinese leftovers if I can’t get my team to the playoffs._

And, Tyler realizes, he doesn’t even have Jordie around to help him sort through his shit anymore.

_Fuck._

They’re both around for a while before they fly back to their respective sides of Canada to chill for a couple weeks, and after his seventh text goes ignored, Tyler finally tells himself, alright. That’s enough of that shit.

Tyler’s always been better with a purpose. With a concrete goal that he can just barrel towards full speed. If it can’t be hoisting the Cup this year, then god dammit, it’s gonna be wiping that sad sack expression off Jamie’s face for good.

He’s figured out how to unstick Jamie before. Tyler’s confident he can do it again.

-

First order of business is to stop asking permission. He knows the key code to Jamie’s garage, because Jamie’s a dumbass who doesn’t ever change it, so it’s still his mom’s birthday. The door from the garage into the house isn’t ever locked. Again, because dumbass.

So Tyler lets himself in, because if he _asks_ if Jamie wants him to come over he’ll just get ignored again, but if he just shows up, Jamie’s overly-developed politeness center will probably kick in and he’ll let Tyler stay. He thinks Jamie might be medically incapable of asking someone to leave once they’re in his house.

Well. He’s kicked Sharpy and Spezza out, actually, after a team barbeque, when they lingered in the kitchen talking about their cars for too long. More than once, come to think of it. Jamie goes to bed freakishly early, even when he doesn’t have to. Apparently getting a solid eight hours in is an acceptable reason to politely but firmly nudge a guest towards the door in the Benn house.

It’s never really seemed like it applied to Tyler, though.

Jamie has all the shit under his kitchen sink spread out on the floor and is halfway hidden in the cabinet when Tyler comes in, and he clocks his head on the underside of the counter when he startles at the sound of the garage door opening.

“Shit, Segs,” Jamie says as he stands up, rubbing his forehead. “Where’d you come from?”

“Oh, well, you know, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much…” Tyler takes an apple out of the fruit bowl on Jamie’s counter and looks at it before putting it back. He likes how Jamie has fancy shit like a fruit bowl. With actual fruit in it.

“Ha,” Jamie says, dusting his hands off on his very sad sweatpants, and oh, shit. Tyler knows those sweatpants. They’re gray and plain came from a three-pack at Target. Those are the sweatpants Jamie wears when he doesn’t think he deserves any of his Stars ones.

This might be more dire than Tyler had thought.

At least Jamie’s godawful goatee is gone, now, and he’s back to just normal levels of stubble. That thing has been the worst. Tyler feels encouraged by its absence.

“This what you’ve been too busy doing all week to text me back, bro?” Tyler asks, pointing a foot at the pile of Windex bottles and dish towels and chip clips and sponges scattered around.

“Garbage disposal wasn’t working right,” Jamie says unhappily. He sounds like he’s taking it really personally.

“I can see how that would take so long to fix.” Tyler nudges the mess aside with a foot and then toes out of his Nikes – Jamie’s got a thing about shoes in the house – and steers them both out of the kitchen. Divert, deflect, distract. “Especially since they haven’t invented someone you can call who’s job it is to fix that kind of thing in exchange for money.”

“I like…” Jamie trails off, although Tyler knows what he’s about to say. He likes doing that stuff himself. It’s sweet, in a goofy sort of way, at least usually. When it isn’t an excuse to avoid Tyler, or the sun, or even the most fleeting moment of happiness.

Home improvement as a method of self punishment is less charming than when it’s just for its own sake. Tyler makes a skeptical face and hopes that gets his point across.

“Okay, yeah. Sorry,” Jamie says instead, stepping away from the sink and letting Tyler steer him with a hand on his shoulder to the couch. “Haven’t really been, y’know. Very good company.” He exhales heavily. Tyler wonders if he’s been holding that breath for a week.

“I get it,” Tyler tells him. He actually _does_ get it, otherwise he wouldn’t have said so. It’s annoying as shit when someone who isn’t on the team says they know how it feels when they fuck up.

“Yeah,” Jamie agrees. Except he doesn’t really sound like he buys it. Mostly he sounds like he kicked a puppy and is in a firestorm of guilt over it.

“C’mon, man,” Tyler says. He thwacks his foot against Jamie’s shin until he sits down on the sofa, and shoves a pillow and the remote towards him before sitting too. Dude needs to get cozy, like, _stat_. “Don’t do the whole–” He can’t think of the word he wants. “The whole _everything is my fault_ thing.”

“I’m not,” Jamie sulks, and turns on the TV. There’s a commercial for a weird garden hose on whatever channel Jamie had been watching last, and he just leaves it there, like scrolling through his seven million channels to actually find something interesting is beyond him.

So they just watch the hose for a while until the commercial ends. Turns out, the channel Jamie had been watching last was NHLN. Fucking figures.

It takes maybe twelve seconds of airtime for the ticker scrolling across the bottom of the screen to ask: _Who will replace Ruff in Dallas?_ They both read it at the same time; Jamie makes a noise like he’s just been punched in the gut, and Tyler turns off the TV.

This wasn’t a great divert deflect distract plan, maybe.

“He’d still be around if I’d….” Jamie says after an uncomfortable moment of silence, trailing off forlornly.

“Hey,” Tyler says, trying to sound firm. Jamie’s usually good at that voice – authoritative and convincing, but still kind. It’s his captain voice, the one he’d had to work hard at getting right. “Knock it off. You know that isn’t how any of this works, man. We were all on that team. Lindy too. This shit happens and it sucks dick, but it was a team effort. Of, you know, sucking dick.”

He’s not sure if that’s exactly the right speech for the situation, but it’s the best he can come up with on short notice. Jamie seems like he’s letting it sink in, at least.

“Sorry,” Jamie says eventually. This time he sounds more like he means it, although _sorry_ isn’t exactly the same as _you’re right, Tyler, how wise_. “I’m not trying to be, like, a martyr about it. Just feels shitty, y’know?”

 _Martyr_. That was the word Tyler couldn’t think of.

“You know what your problem is?” Tyler asks, stretching close to Jamie until he’s basically horizontal and all up in Jamie’s face.

He actually smiles at that, a little. A really pathetic smile, but hey. Tyler will take it. “I bet you’re gonna tell me.”

“You’re way too up here.” Tyler reaches over and taps Jamie right on the temple. Jesus Christ, he’s glad that shitty beard goatee thing is gone. Jamie’s way too good looking to have that mess dragging his whole face down.

Although, like. It’s not like he wasn’t pretty easy for Jamie even _with_ the beard, too. It’s just – this is better. Jamie has a good face.

“Where else should I be?” Jamie asks him, and Tyler kind of can’t tell if Jamie’s actually being dense or just fucking with him, so he just grins and raises his eyebrow, and then pointedly looks Jamie up and down, lingering on his dick.

“Just saying, man, you’re an athlete. All about physicality, right?” Tyler leans even closer. Jamie smells really fucking nice, per usual. “So, like. Put something that isn’t your brain to work.”

Tyler guesses, ostensibly, that that could just sound like he’s advocating, like, going for a run or something, but he’s pretty sure Jamie gets his drift. If he doesn’t, Tyler’s going to have to be embarrassed for himself and his game.

“You’re an idiot,” Jamie says, but he still has that teeny sad smile, and he isn’t pulling away, and Tyler _knows_ that if nothing else, he’s good at _this_ , so he squirms over until he’s got one knee across Jamie’s hips and then kisses him.

Jamie always kisses so fucking _good_ , exactly the way Tyler wants it. Even in the depths of his extreme self pity he immediately gives Tyler his whole attention, just like he does every time; doesn’t stop running his hands over the backs of Tyler’s arms and making quiet little noises, nudging him closer.

Even when they’re not fucking, even if they’re just kissing – a weird thing that’s been happening more and more, lately, but, you know, whatever, they’re both busy guys – Tyler always feels like he can _finally_ settle under Jamie’s all-consuming touch. Tyler knows he tends to be a tactile dude, but Jamie indulges it in a bone-deep satisfying way no one else really has.

And anyway, it’s been at least a week since he’d seen Jamie before now. That’s a while, for them.

The sad sweatpants have one upside, which is that they’re easy to slide down when Tyler feels Jamie getting hard and wriggles down the sofa to kneel between his legs.

Jamie isn’t wearing anything under his sad sweatpants. That’s a nice surprise.

“Hello,” Tyler says, not exactly _to_ Jamie’s dick, but not exactly not _not_ to it either.

“Oh God,” Jamie says above him, groaning and almost laughing. That’s a _huge_ improvement over the moping, in Tyler’s book.

“Shh,” Tyler tells him, and presses his thumbs into the hinge of Jamie’s hips. “I’m making friends down here.” Jamie snorts, but his hips jerk when Tyler’s thumbs dig harder.

“You are – _mmph_. Such a weirdo.” It comes out kind of fond, though, so Tyler just preens, and then wraps his hand around Jamie’s cock.

“Weirdo who’s gonna suck your dick, sure.” Tyler jerks him a few times, slow, and Jamie squirms, whines. His dick is so hard and when Tyler leans in to put his mouth around it, he thinks, _yes, yes_.

He’s _very_ glad he invited himself over.

He only spends a few seconds enjoying the stretch of Jamie in his mouth, though, hard and hot and just pretty much perfect, before Jamie rests his finger against Tyler’s chin, drawing his attention up. Tyler lets his lips go slack, feeling a little sad when Jamie’s cock slips out, slapping wetly up against his stomach.

“Tyler,” Jamie says, nudging Tyler’s chin up, and for a second it sounds cautious, like he’s going to tell Tyler to – stop? To not? 

God, Tyler hopes not. He just – _really_ wants this. Wants _Jamie_.

“You look…” Jamie trails off, but keeps his curled finger under Tyler’s jaw. “God.”

“Yeah?” Tyler asks, pleased.

“Thank you,” Jamie says, low, and he very possibly might be the only guy in the world who says thank you _before_ he even gets a blow job.

Tyler wants to say _you can thank me when I’m done_ , or maybe _you don’t have to thank me at all, dude,_ but instead he just holds Jamie’s gaze for a moment before he puts his mouth back around his cock.

This is something Tyler knows how to do well, and it doesn’t hurt that he really does love it. He gets his mouth over most of Jamie, jerks him off and swirls his tongue and digs in with his fingers until Jamie is squirming and gasping. Jamie accidentally jerks up suddenly, shoving his dick to the very back of Tyler’s throat, and immediately starts apologizing, all “Sorry, shit, sorry,” but the thing is – Tyler doesn’t hate that.

“No, shut up,” Tyler says hoarsely, pulling off for a second. Because – it makes him think.

It’s not like he’s never gotten his throat fucked before. Like, _really_ fucked. Jamie hasn’t ever done that to him, probably because Jamie tends towards being terminally gentle, but, like. Who doesn’t like to fuck someone’s throat?

Lots of people have really seemed to enjoy fucking Tyler’s, at least.

“Here, just – here,” Tyler directs, and then takes one of Jamie’s hands and puts in on the back of his head. “You can, like.” He presses his head into Jamie’s hands and hopes he gets his point.

Jamie, though, God bless him, just barely tightens his fingers in Tyler’s hair, and stays perfectly still.

And like, there’s nothing _wrong_ with just taking Jamie apart with his mouth while he tries not to shake apart beneath him. But now that he’s thought about it, Tyler just really wants Jamie to fucking _grab_ him, to pull his hair and shove his dick down his throat until he drools around it and – and – Tyler doesn't know what else, honestly, but he _wants_.

And he wants that for Jamie. Maybe it would do something about the tense set of Jamie’s shoulders that’s still there, even as he starts making those little gasps that mean he’s about to come.

It’s just… other people that Tyler has fucked have seemed to get a certain amount of satisfaction from pulling his hair and fucking his face. Or calling him names. Occasionally both at the same time.

Tyler doubles down, trying to nudge Jamie’s hands tighter into his hair and his hips up to meet his mouth, but Jamie is frustratingly still, the stupid fucking gentleman, and even though it’s amazing when he finally comes – halfway in Tyler’s mouth and halfway across it, his favorite way – Tyler still feels like he should have tried a little harder. Jamie’s just been so unhappy; Tyler thinks a little bit of throat-fucking might have helped distract him even more.

After Jamie stops breathing heavily and stroking his hands way too softly down Tyler’s face, he pulls Tyler back up onto the couch and arranges him in his lap, jerking Tyler off until he shoots off all over both their stomachs.

At least Jamie had thought to pull both their shirts off, first. Jamie thinks of everything like that.

“Hang out for dinner?” Jamie asks, kissing Tyler’s jaw way too gently.

Tyler tries not to do something stupid like blush. “What are you making me?” he asks.

-

They end up in Jamie’s bed, propped up on his hundreds of pillows and watching How It’s Made on his laptop, even though there’s a perfectly good tv mounted over the gas fireplace in the master bedroom. Jamie still can’t figure out how to get Netflix on it, apparently.

It’s alright with Tyler, though, because that means he has to shove up super close to Jamie to see the screen of his Macbook. He’s borrowed a pair of sweatpants – non-sad ones – and even managed to brush his teeth with the travel toothbrush he leaves by Jamie’s sink these days, and overall, he’s just feeling super nice.

He’s glad that he’d come over, because even if Jamie’s still kind of frowny, he seems a _little_ lighter, but also – Tyler’s glad because he’d kind of missed Jamie, too.

“Thought maybe you were trying to ghost me,” he jokes after a segment on French horns ends, and then immediately wishes he could unsay it. It’s a little too – yeah. Unfortunately, Tyler still hasn’t really learned a better strategy for times when he’s accidentally said something he shouldn’t have that isn’t just more talking, so he keeps going. “I mean, I know everyone, like, processes stuff, right, and all in your own time and shit, but I did text you. Like, a lot. So I guess I just – wondered.” He makes a weird hand gesture that he guesses is supposed to represent ghosting.

“Oh. Jeez,” Jamie says, twisting his face up a little, his eyes going all hangdog. “That wasn’t what I was – I’m sorry.” 

_Fuck_ , now he just looks sad again. That wasn’t what Tyler meant to do.

“No, hey, I wasn’t saying it to like, make you feel bad,” Tyler says immediately, trying to sound easy-going and soothing all at once. “Just, you know. Missed you, bro.”

For a weird second, he thinks about punching Jamie jovially in the arm. Instead he just snuggles closer, and Jamie frowns again but doesn’t say anything else, just turns off the lamp on his bedside table and tightens his arm around Tyler.

Tyler texts his dog walker to ask her to stop by before bed and let Marshall and Cash out. He’ll probably be back from Jamie’s early enough to get them their breakfast.

They don’t talk about it when he stays over. He just does.

Talking about stuff is whatever, anyway.

-

He’s worried he’s going to have to keep sneak attacking Jamie into hanging out, because yeah, Jamie had kissed him goodbye when he left that morning and even managed to smile a little bit, but he’d still had that guilty, woe is me torn-up air around him. 

Jamie comes over two days later, though, with one of his Blue Apron boxes and makes the family sized portion of pasta primavera for both of them. He’s still in his sad boy sweatpants, and keeps sighing at nothing, but at least he’s out of the house of his own volition, so Tyler lets it slide.

After they eat, they go out to the backyard and sprawl out by the pool with their iPads. Tyler thinks, _thank God for the privacy fence_ , because he’s busy getting his tan on right now, but when it gets dark enough outside he’s going to see if Jamie will fuck him on one of the loungers. He’d made his decorator get huge, padded ones for a reason.

Miraculously, Jamie _does_. Tyler end up sprawled over the edge of the lounger, ass up, Jamie pressing into him from behind while the pool filter whirrs in the background. The air smells warm, like chlorine and the flowering trees on the far side of the yard and with the porch lights mostly off, Tyler can just see the blurry edges of their reflections shifting in the dark blue of the pool.

“Fuck,” he moans, and not just because of the way Jamie is stretching him out at this angle. Jamie doesn’t always want to hit it from behind, because he’s got some dumb thing about liking to see people’s faces when they fuck, but he seems pretty into it now, holding Tyler’s shoulders down with one big hand and just _giving_ it to him. Fucking him like he’s trying to prove something.

He wonders if maybe – maybe he could get Jamie to try some other stuff, too.

Tyler thinks about his failed effort to get Jamie to fuck his throat, and how he couldn’t even get him to pull his hair.

He grits his teeth and thrusts back to meet Jamie, groaning. He’s going to try harder; he’s going to get Jamie to fuck him even harder, however Jamie wants, until the upset tension in his shoulders disappears.

When Tyler gasps and comes, he thinks, yeah. Good plan.

-

As with most important things, he checks with Brownie.

 _my naked body cheers you up, right??_ Tyler texts.

The little _typing_ dots pop up on the screen for a long time, and then disappear, and then restart. That happens about four times before Brownie actually responds.

 _i feel like this is a trap_ , is what his message ends up being, and then, _please don’t send me a picture of your dick. you know you aren’t supposed to take those anymore._

Which, okay, that’s true, but is frankly neither here nor there at this moment.

 _jamie’s all fucked up from hockey_ , Tyler sends instead. _like in his heart i mean he didn’t get injured or anything. but he’s…_ He thinks. _Sad_ doesn’t really cover it. _taking it extra hard this year i guess._

Another pause from Brownie, and then: _I’m concerned about how those thoughts connect_.

 _i’m just trying to figure out how to lift his spirits_ , Tyler says, which seems obvious to him.

_i don’t want to get too technical here, so tell me if i get too technical here, but have u tried… talking to him?_

Tyler scrunches his face up. _no?? i just want to DO something for him_. That seems obvious. Tyler is a man of action, dammit.

 _okayyyyyy,_ says Brownie. _and your conclusions was… w/ your dick?_

Tyler shrugs to no one. Why is that so preposterous? _well i already know he likes it._

Brownie doesn’t even say anything to that, just sends him a screenshot of Tyler’s contact in his phone with the Ignore Number button toggled on. It came through way too quickly for him to have just done it. Tyler wonders if Brownie just keeps that screenshot on hand for easy access.

 _doesn’t have to just be my dick, dude_ , Tyler says, and notices his text goes through just fine. That liar. _like i mean i popped my shirt off after that last game_ , Tyler says, thinking back. _when i had the tshirt gun. bc i didnt wear any ua under my gear that day. idk if he noticed tho_.

 _in his defense u never have a shirt_ on,Brownie chirps.

 _usually on the ice i do,_ says Tyler. Then he worries he’s just left himself wide open for a barrage of Body Issue screenshots, but maybe it’s too easy, because Brownie doesn’t take it.

In fact, Brownie doesn’t say anything for a minute, which makes Tyler feel a little put out. _bro can u just tell me i’m sexy so i know this is a good plan???_ he asks.

 _this is your only one for the month,_ Brownie says, but then: _yes, you’re incredibly sexy, congrats on your 4% body fat. i’m going to the gym now PLEASE don’t send me dick pics._

Tyler wasn’t going to, but just for the sake of accuracy, says: _try 3% baby._

Brownie doesn’t answer. Tyler feels good about his plan anyway, even though he’s not sure Brownie was exactly enthusiastic about it, and also, he neglected to get any advice on how to convince Jamie to rough him up a little.

Oh well, he thinks. Next time.

-

The next time Tyler comes over to his house, Jamie is dicking around in his backyard. He actually has a _wheelbarrow_ out. Who the fuck even has a wheelbarrow?

“Dude,” Tyler says, sprawling out on the grass with a bottle of coconut water in his hand. “Once again: there are people you can pay to do this for you.”

Jamie just glances up at him and scrunches up his eyebrows. “You could help,” he says. “That would make this go faster.”

“Eh,” Tyler says, closing his eyes for a long moment, comfortable. The sun is warm and Jamie is sweaty. Tyler bets he can goad him into taking his shirt off soon, which is not just a perk for Tyler, but a good first step in the plan. “My rates are so high…”

“Mm,” Jamie says, sitting back on his heels where he’s kneeling in front of a flowerbed. He’s clearly too busy frowning at the stack of bags in front of him to really listen to Tyler. 

He’s still all tangled up in his head, Tyler can tell. That’s why he’s out here re-mulching his landscaping. That’s why he’d also ordered paint samples for his office and reorganized his garage and changed the oil in his car this past week too.

 _Jamie can unstick himself from the boards, but he can’t unstick himself from his own_ brain, Tyler thinks, and then, _damn_. That’s deep. He should write that down, maybe.

Jamie squints at him. “Does this mulch look too dark? With the stones?”

Tyler shrugs. “What does mulch do, anyway?” he asks, even though he totally knows. Mostly. He knows, like, exactly as much about mulch as is necessary for his life, but Jamie likes to explain things.

Tyler nods and agrees while Jamie goes through it, angling his leg up on the lounger so his basketball shorts slide up his thigh. “Really,” he asks. He lets his coconut water he’s drinking spill down his chest a little, too. Whatever; all’s fair.

“But if there’s too much, it’ll suffocate the roots,” Jamie’s saying.

“Oh, sure, of course,” Tyler agrees, and then pulls off his t-shirt.

Jamie blinks at him.

“What?” Tyler asks. “It’s hot.”

“Yeah,” Jamie agrees. “Next week is supposed to be hotter, I think?”

“Wow,” Tyler says slowly. “Hotter?”

Jamie just nods and goes back to his mulch; Tyler sighs.

After forty five minutes of watching Jamie get more and more worked up about whether his perennials should be relocated and stressing about water usage, Tyler is sweaty and more than half-hard. Jamie has ignored him eating a popsicle, dumping water on his hair, and bending over elaborately when he accidentally on purpose drops his phone under his chair.

“Jamie,” he finally says, trying to enunciate very clearly. “Can you take a break?”

“I mean, I still have those bags to go…” Jamie gestures at the last few mulch bags, left neglected since Jamie started fretting about his sprinkler system’s efficiency.

“Jamie,” Tyler says even more slowly. “Take a break.”

Eventually Jamie nods, dusts off his hands. “You hungry? We could order something.”

Tyler pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dude, please get what I’m hinting at here.”

Jamie just blinks his big dumb eyes at him again.

“I would like to fuck, if that’s okay with you,” Tyler says slowly.

“Oh,” Jamie says, and then, “ _oh._ ”

“There you go,” Tyler says, leading the way into the house. He squirms out of his basketball shorts once he’s just barely inside the door.

-

There’s a moment upstairs when Tyler thinks Jamie is actually going to put his foot down about “needing to shower,” but that’s – Tyler doesn’t _want_ that, he doesn’t want to wait, he doesn’t want Jamie to start _thinking_ about _stuff_ in the shower, and plus it’s not like Tyler hasn’t been fully down to fuck Jamie when he’s been sweaty as hell before anyway.

The good news is, Jamie is easily distracted when Tyler gets down on his knees and backs Jamie up against the footboard of his bed.

Tyler knows he’s good at sucking dick, but it still makes him feel smug and pleased with himself when Jamie taps him under the chin after just a couple of minutes and says “You gotta stop if you want – anything else.”

Tyler pulls of Jamie’s cock with an exaggerated pop and sits back on his knees. “Good call,” he says. “‘Cause I definitely want you to fuck me.”

Jamie takes a deep breath and steadies himself with a hand on the bed.

Tyler winds up sprawled face down over Jamie’s lap while he works him open with his fingers, and his blowjob must have been _really_ good, because he’s not taking as much time as he usually does. The idea that Jamie must really want to get his cock inside Tyler makes him squirm around happily, pillowing his head and folded arms on the soft comforter and rubbing off against Jamie’s muscled thighs.

He’s starting to enjoy it too much, actually, by the time Jamie finally drags his fingers out. God _damn_ , Jamie has nice hands. Tyler is about to get up on his knees and possibly beg for him to just put it in already when he has another, even better idea.

“Jamie,” Tyler says. “Do – do something for me?”

“Yeah,” Jamie breathes against Tyler’s neck. “Anything. What do you need?”

Tyler thinks about how to answer, and then decides he might as well just show him. He wriggles around, wraps his fingers around Jamie’s wrist, and brings his palm down on the curve of his ass.

Given how long it had taken Jamie to pick up on the idea that Tyler wanted him to stop gardening so they could fuck in the first place, Tyler’s pretty sure he’s going to have to demonstrate at least two more times before Jamie cottons on, but he must be getting his head in the game, because Tyler can _feel_ the tension coil up Jamie’s arm as he says, “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah,” Tyler says. Suddenly he’s like… a little nervous? Which is confusing. He’s definitely asked people to do way weirder things to him in the bedroom.

There’s a pause, like Jamie’s considering, but then he says: “Okay.”

Tyler closes his eyes and braces himself, but nothing happens. He waits long enough that he’s about to ask Jamie what the hold up is, but then he feels Jamie’s hands skim softly up the back of his thighs and over his ass, so much more gentle than he’d expected.

Jamie just keeps stroking him like that, vaguely reverent, for long enough that Tyler half forgets what’s going – so it takes him by surprise when he feels Jamie’s hand come down on him.

It’s – it’s barely anything, just a tap, but it goes _straight_ to Tyler’s cock like he’s electrified. He groans.

“Like that?” Jamie asks, unsure.

“You can, uh. Harder,” Tyler croaks out. “I’m tough, man.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Jamie says quietly, something Tyler can’t quite figure out in his voice. Apprehension? Awe?

“Dude,” Tyler says, gritting his teeth. “You know I’m a hockey player, right?”

That, at least, gets Jamie to huff out a laugh, which distracts Tyler enough so that once again he isn’t expecting it when Jamie’s hand comes down.

It still isn’t very hard, but it sends shocks all through Tyler.

“Yes,” he says, quietly. “Please.”

He can tell Jamie’s unsure, hesitant, but he doesn’t stop. And it’s still barely anything, really, just a few tentative swats, but Tyler can hardly keep himself together. 

“Okay,” he finally pants after Jamie’s hand lands, stinging, on the very top of his thigh. “Okay, c’mon, I need you to–”

“I got you,” Jamie says, steadily. He hauls Tyler over, setting him purposefully up against the headboard, and gets between his legs.

“I got you,” he says again when he fucks into Tyler.

Tyler buries his face in the crook of Jamie’s shoulder when he comes.

-

Everything feels a little bit better for a while. Jamie is still kind of beating himself up, keeps waking up in the middle of the night to go move stuff around in the kitchen or whatever it he’s doing noisily when Tyler’s trying to sleep, and he won’t say a single word about hockey, which is – frankly, _weird as hell_. But when he starts seeming too wound up, Tyler can usually distract with with his mouth or his hand or some other part of his body until Jamie looks _slightly_ less like he’s going to rip his own hair out.

Plus, he gets Jamie to spank him two more times.

Jamie still won’t do it _quite_ hard enough, but whatever. They both come insanely fast each time Tyler manages to get Jamie to pick up on the fact that he wants it, and Jamie always naps more peacefully afterward too.

That works well enough, right up until the day Tyler gets home from Whole Foods and finds Jamie watching game two of the western conference first round with his head in his hands.

“Hold me up,” Tyler says once he gets Jamie naked and distracted. “Like, against the wall.”

They’re in the hallway, just outside the door to his bedroom, and Tyler’s pretty proud of himself for positioning them there while make it look like Jamie’s doing. He’s basically a sex ninja.

Jamie blinks, but does what he’s told, hoists Tyler up so he can get a leg around him, their dicks lining up. Tyler knows he’s not a small dude, but Jamie’s got a solid grip on him like he’s half his size.

“Shit, yeah, like that,” Tyler hisses.

“Tell me if you feel like I’m gonna drop you,” Jamie tells him, and then wraps his hand around Tyler’s cock.

“Oh my God, shut up.” Tyler genuinely could not care if he fell off a _roof_ right now as long as Jamie keeps twisting his wrist like that. He makes a noise that jolts Jamie into pushing him harder against the wall, and that – yeah. He likes that.

“Do that again,” Tyler says, and Jamie shoves them again, but more tentatively this time. “ _Hard_ , dude, c’mon.”

Jamie does, keeps Tyler tight in his arms as he presses up against him, letting Tyler’s back scrape the wall as he kisses Tyler’s jaw and jerks them both off, and it’s _good_ , but Tyler can tell it’s still all deliberate. What he _really_ wants is for Jamie to stop being so damn careful, to leave a mark, bruise Tyler _up_ a little, just – fuck. Just let _go_.

“Benn,” he says, close to Jamie’s ear, and then stretches out the line of his neck. “At least gimme a souvenir, dude. Leave a fucking mark.”

Jamie groans, but doubles down on fisting their cocks as he bites down on Tyler’s neck, finally hard enough that Tyler’s _sure_ there’ll be a bruise tomorrow, and that’s game over. Tyler comes all over both of their stomachs, and Jamie follows.

In the shower, Tyler tries to think of what else he can offer Jamie, how else he can get Jamie out of his head. There isn’t much Tyler hasn’t tried at some point in his sexual history, but he can’t totally guess if Jamie would be more receptive to handcuffing him to the bed and not letting him come or holding him down and calling him a slut or _what_.

It’s a brain teaser.

-

“Do you remember that girl I was sleeping with a while ago?” he asks Brownie next time they’re Skyping. Might as well think tank this one. “The slapper?”

“Regrettably, yes,” Brownie says. “Relatedly, have you ever wondered if it’s normal how much I know about your sex life?”

“That was fun,” Tyler says, almost wistfully. It _was_. She liked to slap his face when they fucked, and face-slapping isn’t necessarily Tyler’s _thing_ , but then again, he doesn’t think he _has_ one particular thing. He likes sex, and he likes sex that other people like having with him. Does it count as a _thing_ if it’s just whatever the other person’s _thing_ is?

“Do you think Jamie would want to slap me?” he asks Brownie instead.

“Segs, for Christ’s sake.”

“Well!” Tyler says. “He’s still all miserable! Maybe he just needs to, like. Take it out on someone. Get it out of his system, you know?”

“And that person should be you.”

Tyler tilts his head. “Duh. I can take it.”

“And you’re sure that having Benn slap you in the face while you’re boning is what will cheer him up,” Brownie says slowly, like he’s working through a word problem out loud.

Tyler thinks about it. “It doesn’t have to be slapping,” he says after a moment. “He could, like–”

“No, nope,” Brownie cuts him off.

“Okay, but my point is that last time I was blowing h–” 

Brownie hangs up. Tyler dials him back.

“I’m going to do that every time you give me details I don’t need,” Brownie says.

“Alright,” Tyler agrees. He’ll just tell Brownie what ends _up_ working, maybe. “But, like. You get where I’m coming from, right? It’s a good plan?” 

There’s a long pause – long enough for Cash to jump up on the couch, lick halfway up Tyler’s nose, and jump back down – before Brownie says, “Bro. Have you thought about why you really wanna do this?”

“Yes,” Tyler says. _Obviously_. “Because he feels shitty and I don’t know how else to make him feel better.” It feels kind of insulting, honestly. He’s used to knowing what Jamie wants. At least, like, when it comes to hockey and sex. Logically, trying to combine them ought to be his motherfucking jam. 

“Okay. I mean. If you say so. But also consider that not everyone wants to have their dick yelled at during sex,” Brownie says.

Tyler knows that. “Duh. I’m saying he can yell at _my_ dick.”

Brownie sighs, although he probably doesn’t sound as annoyed as a normal person would be. “You still get my general point, yeah?”

Tyler says yes, because he knows that's what he's supposed to say. It still doesn’t really add up, though.

-

Through a process of elimination, Tyler figures out that while Jamie is on board with spanking Tyler – still a little too gently, but they can work on that – anything else Tyler hints at that might leave a mark any more serious than a hickey makes Jamie frown. Jamie’s usually on board with fucking in one of their back yards, and on one rare occasion lets Tyler jerk him off in an empty bar bathroom, but circumstances being what they are, anything too close to real exhibitionism is probably off the table for the two of them. He seems tolerant of Tyler’s favorite dildo when Tyler introduces the two of them, but he’s not sure they’ll ever, like, hang out on their own without Tyler around.

Jamie _does_ seem really into it when Tyler asks him to hold him down just under the line of his neck and come on Tyler’s face, at least.

That’s good information to have.

-

There is one night, when they have too many margaritas at the Mexican place downtown they both like, and get handsy in the Uber back home.

Something on Jamie’s phone had made his expression go tight and unhappy halfway through dinner, at least for a while. Tyler didn’t ask what, just groped Tyler through his jeans as surreptitiously as he could in the car and then got his clothes off once his front door was locked behind them.

When Jamie’s in his bed and scraping his fingers down the angles of Tyler’s hips, following their path with his lips, Tyler has an idea. He waits a beat, and when Jamie puts his mouth around his cock, breathes out, “ _Daddy_.”

Jamie freezes immediately, and then pulls off.

“Oh, no. Nope, no thank you,” he says, voice pitching up a little into an almost-panicky register. “That’s not, uh. I mean, if that’s something you’re into, but – that’s not, um. Nope. Not for me.”

“No, no, hey, it was just an experiment” Tyler says, accidentally slipping into the _everyone be calm_ voice he uses when his dogs get too worked up and start barking at the doorbell, because that really _isn’t_ his thing. It’s a thing he can get into in the appropriate circumstance, maybe, with the right person, but, yeah.

Jamie pretty clearly is not that person.

“Seriously,” he reassures. “Not really my thing. Just trying it out. If it doesn’t work for you, it’s out of here.”

“Are you sure?” Jamie asks, and even though it’s awkward as hell, Tyler has to laugh a little.

“Dude, I promise,” he says. “Start over?” 

They do start over. Jamie kisses him for a long time, up his neck and behind his ears and across his shoulders when he flips Tyler face-down on the bed, and then, God help him, Jamie keeps _going_. His mouth and his hands are soft as he licks Tyler open, taking his damn time until Tyler’s practically humping the mattress for relief. When he thinks he’s about to lose it, Jamie stops, turns him over gently and kneels astride his hips.

“Tyler,” he says quietly, just a breath away from Tyler’s mouth. Tyler feels – he doesn’t even know. Exposed, and like he wants Jamie to crawl inside him anyway.

“Come for me?” Jamie asks as he drags his fist up Tyler’s cock. Tyler just nods, that’s all he can do, and when Jamie tips his forehead against his, something in Tyler’s heart jolts.

He does come for Jamie, hard enough that he feels like something is splintering inside him.

When he collects himself enough, he rolls onto his side and pulls Jamie against his back, clenching his thighs together so Jamie can thrust between them, Tyler’s come slicking the skin there.

His heart is still beating too fast when Jamie comes, and stays curled up behind him, holding on tight. 

It’s – it’s too nice. Jamie’s weight behind him, his hand tight on his hips, the brush of his lips against his neck.

They should get up. They should at least attempt to clean up their jizz, but the thought of moving away from Jamie even for that long makes Tyler want to punch something a little bit, so they stay right where they are until Tyler’s eyes start to close. 

Jamie feels relaxed and pliant behind him, and maybe the whole _daddy_ thing had been a bust, but Tyler feels pretty sure he’s still done a hell of a job getting Jamie to forget about whatever had gotten him all tense behind the eyes halfway through his fajitas.

If Tyler had to register a guess, it had probably been the NHL app.

Just before he drifts off, Tyler realizes with a half-jolt that that’s the first time _he’s_ thought about hockey in… well. A long time, too.

-

“I have – stuff,” Tyler says the next time Jamie is fingering him open. It’s late morning, Jamie had spent the night, and if it wasn’t for his plan, Tyler would be more than happy to just have Jamie curl up behind him and fuck him slow and sleepy. And then maybe see if he can get Jamie to make brunch.

But. The plan is good, too.

Jamie’s hand stops moving, although he keeps both fingers inside Tyler as he leans back to look at Tyler. “Stuff for what?”

“Anything,” Tyler says. “Like, uh. Handcuffs? Or probably like, ropes, or I’ve got ties and shit, you know. If you wanted to maybe tie me up or something.”

Jamie does pull his fingers out at that – carefully, but still. He rolls of Tyler and props himself up on his side, looking at Tyler with that serious, steady _time to be responsible_ expression that always makes Tyler feel like he’s under a microscope.

“Do – do you _want_ me to tie you up?” Jamie looks deeply perplexed.

“I’m asking _you_ ,” Tyler says, trying not to roll his eyes, because that’s not the point.

Jamie’s eyebrows furrow even harder. He’s going to go cross-eyed if he keeps it up.

“Segs,” Jamie says carefully, and then, “Tyler. Is something, like… up lately?”

Tyler just makes a face that he hopes telegraphs _I have no idea what you’re talking about_.

“If there’s something you really want, you know I’m – like, we can try it. But is there a reason you’re doing… this?” Jamie gestures vaguely and all-encompassingly with his hand. Tyler knows exactly what he means, and wishes he didn’t.

 _To cheer you up_ sound dumb, even in Tyler’s head. “We do this,” he kind of mumbles. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He wants Jamie to come back and keep touching him. Preferably kind of hard, and until he isn’t worried about anything at all.

“But not usually like _this_. With, like, handcuffs and shit. I mean, you don’t feel like…” Jamie frowns and closes his eyes for a long second, and Tyler can pretty much see him picking out his words very, very carefully. “You know you deserve to be treated right, dude, yeah?”

“Aw, Jesus Christ,” Tyler says, flopping one hand over his eyes. This is pretty much the exact opposite of how he was hoping the day would go.

“I mean it,” Jamie says sternly, pulling his hand away.

“ _Yes_ , dude, knock it off.” Tyler’s starting to feel like he’s fucking this up, and the last thing he wants is for Jamie to feel like now he has to worry about Tyler on top of everything else.

Jamie just says “hm,” and then puts his hands on Tyler’s face and just _looks_ at him for a long time, but finally he kisses him.

Jamie doesn’t fuck him, but he does give him a handjob _and_ makes them both breakfast burritos afterwards. They eat them while Tyler kicks Jamie’s ass at Mario Kart downstairs, which Jamie tries to blame on the dogs, who are admittedly jumping all over him, but honestly, Jamie should be used to that by now.

“This is nice,” Jamie says after he loses again, smiling a little dopily at Tyler. He seem to genuinely mean it, too, and even though maybe Tyler miscalculated sex-wise earlier, he guess he must not have fucked it up too irredeemably. Not if Jamie’s smiling, at least.

-

A week before he’s due to fly to Canada, Jamie comes over to Tyler’s in the evening with a bottle of wine. Neither of them know shit about wine, but whatever; it works with the steaks Tyler grills, Jamie watching him carefully, visibly restraining himself from backseat grilling like he usually does. He always flips stuff too early.

They’ve done this exact thing enough times that it feels normal, except for once they’re done eating out on the deck, the sun starting to set, Tyler suddenly starts to feel squirrely, because this is usually where they go inside to watch hockey, and, yeah. That’s still not really on the table.

He gets Jamie into the hot tub, instead, and then pretty quickly out of the swim trunks he keeps at Tyler’s, now. He even humors Jamie, who says it’s “gross” to come in a hot tub, and lets him lead Tyler upstairs before they get off.

To be fair, it _is_ nice to trade sloppy, lazy sort of drunk blowjobs in the comfort of his California king bed instead of cramped on the little hot tub bench seat they’re both technically too large to fit in, at least together.

Although if Jamie thinks Tyler’s never jerked off in his hot tub, he’s got another thing coming.

Afterward they shower off the chemicals and the jizz together, and Tyler leaves Jamie to shampoo his hair again while Tyler finds them a second bottle of wine. He genuinely has no memory of buying the bottle of red he grabs, but figures it doesn’t really matter where it came from. All he’s interested in is flopping out in bed with Jamie and putting something stupid on TV for the rest of the night. And maybe getting off one more time.

When he gets upstairs and finds Jamie waiting for him all pink in the face and relaxed in his bed, he thinks, yeah. He could definitely come again.

They don’t ever really drop a hard D about whatever it is the two of them have going on, but inside the privacy of his own brain, Tyler can admit that the whole night does feel distinctly date-like.

It’s gonna be weird as fuck to be away from Jamie, Tyler realizes as he crawls on top of the duvet next to him and invades his space without a second thought. It won’t even be for that long, because they’ll both be back in Dallas after a couple of weeks, but Jamie’s been a steady constant for... a while now. Not just for the last few weeks.

“Gonna miss your weird face,” Tyler tells Jamie’s collar bone, shoving in as close as he can. “Sure you don’t wanna come to the good side of Canada instead? Mom would lose her mind with happiness.”

Jamie laughs above him, and lets his hand run through Tyler’s hair. He pets it softly for a minute, and then Tyler feels him carefully tighten his fingers – not _pulling_ , just holding, waiting.

It puts a stutter in Tyler’s heart as he glances up at Jamie. He thinks – he wonders – maybe…

And then Jamie opens his hand, lets go and kisses the top of Tyler’s head before pulling him up to eye level.

“I know why you’re doing this, I think,” Jamie says softly. “The whole – thing with the, um. Trying to get me to be, like. Rough with you? In bed?”

 _Oh_. Tyler hadn’t really – he was not expecting that.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies after a pause that’s just on the wrong side of incriminating.

“C’mon, Segs.” Jamie actually smiles a little, then. “I know I’m not a genius, but even I can tell when you’re up to something. And I know I was...” He pauses and takes a breath. “I know I took the season hard,” he continues carefully. “And I’m guessing that it wasn’t really a coincidence that that’s when you got all porno on me.”

Tyler doesn’t blush. He for sure does not blush. He just – didn’t realize it was _that_ transparent. “Well, dude. You were fucking mopey, I dunno.”

“Tyler,” Jamie says softly, reaching over to set his hand gently on the inside of Tyler’s wrist. “Babe. You don’t have to do that, you know?”

And God help Tyler, but that _babe_ gets him in such a weird way. Suddenly he feels vaguely hysterical.

“Well!” he says, trying not to go dog whistle levels of high-pitched. “You were like, avoiding me, you were avoiding _everyone_ , and acting like you fucking _murdered_ someone instead of happened to be on a sports team that didn’t do great, which, yeah, that sucks, but – do you know how bad it also sucks watching you make yourself that miserable?”

He clamps his mouth shut and scowls, mostly at himself. Some day, he’s going to learn how to shut up, he swears.

“I thought it would help if you could just… let that out, I dunno,” he finishes, quieter. “And I was okay being the one you took it out on.”

“Well,” Jamie says. “That’s – thanks, Segs. But I don’t want to take it out on you, okay? I just like being with you. I like what we have going on without, like, slapping you in the face while we bone over some hockey shit.” He shrugs a little. “Sorry if that’s boring?”

“It’s not boring,” Tyler says instinctively. It’s _not_. Even before his sex mission had started – which, parts of it had definitely been a lot of fun, he won’t lie, but even before that, sex with Jamie was… it was good. It was better than good, just like pretty much everything with Jamie tends to be.

“Well in any case,” Jamie says. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to snap me out of my shit. I guess I probably could have just… talked to you.”

Tyler nods slowly. That probably would have worked too, he guesses.

“And, you know,” Jamie continues carefully. “It’s not all about me, either. I’m – I’m not the only one who probably felt shitty. I mean, we’re on the same team, yeah?”

Tyler gets suddenly very interested in the weft of the fabric on his sheets. “Sure,” he agrees casually.

“So I’m sorry if I kind of forgot that maybe you felt shitty about how the season ended too.” Jamie looks really, truly, chagrined when Tyler glances up at him, which just makes him look back down.

“I mean – I’m fine, man,” Tyler says, hoping Jamie will drop it. “It’s different for me, you know?

Immediately after he says it, he wishes he hadn’t, because Jamie frowns.

“Why is it different for you?”

Tyler picks at a loose thread on the throw pillow beside him. He wonders what the odds are that Jamie will let him off the hook on this.

Judging by Jamie’s very readable expression: pretty fucking low.

“Forget it,” he tries anyway, but Jamie just nudges his shoulder.

“No, c’mon. What does that mean?”

Tyler breathes in through his nose. “Because it’s not like I really expect to ever win a Cup or whatever,” he says, trying to be low-key. “I just – you know. Mostly I just wanted to play a good season for you. _With_ you. It’s cool for me if I never get a Cup.” He yanks at the thread so hard it snaps, dropping his gaze again. He can still feel Jamie staring at him, though.

“Segs,” Jamie says slowly. “You – you know you _have_ a Cup win, right?” Tyler’s still staring down, but he looks up at Jamie when he feels his fingers move to his side, tracing his tattoo gently. “Thought you got all these tattoos so you wouldn’t forget important stuff like that,” he says with a smile. “You know, winning the Stanley Cup, your own last name…”

Tyler snorts.

He means to tell Jamie to shut up. Instead he says, “That one didn’t really count, though.”

“Gonna need you to explain to me how you came to that conclusion,” Jamie says after a long, uncomfortable pause.

“I mean,” Tyler says. “I know exactly why they got rid of me, dude. I wasn’t ever really… part of the team, you know? I was disposable.” Maybe if he smiles enough, Jamie will get how okay with everything Tyler is. He’s practiced being very okay.

“That’s ridiculous,” Jamie says, in a hard way that Tyler doesn’t expect.

“You can look it up on YouTube whenever you want if you don’t believe me, bro. I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t fit in.” He shrugs, hoping it looks convincing, and touches his fingers briefly to his tattoo. “Doesn’t seem like it counts if you weren’t really part of the team to start with, right?”

Jamie stares at Tyler with such a weird, fierce look in his eyes for long enough that Tyler thinks he must be trying to communicate something to him telepathically. 

“Okay,” Jamie says firmly, and all of a sudden he’s moving, getting all the way into Tyler’s face and putting both hands on his chin. “Okay. Listen to me. _Fuck_ Boston if that’s how they treated you. That’s – they’re fucking _idiots_ , and I’m not sorry they traded you because that means I get to play with you here, but – but what a dumb shit thing to do.”

“Jamie,” Tyler starts softly. He’s going to say that it’s just hockey, that’s how it _is_ , and he’s mostly gotten over it, but Jamie’s on a roll, apparently, and more than just that, he actually looks _mad_.

“You aren’t _disposable_.” It sounds like the word tastes bad in his mouth, the way Jamie says it. “You kicked my ass into being better the second you got here, alright? You know how to play, you know how to lead, you’re so _good_. The kids look up to you, you know that, right? You’re a good teammate, you’re a good _friend_ , you’re just – you.” He must not know what else to say, because he kisses Tyler, so hard it feels like he must be trying to prove something. “You’re the best person I could ever ask to do this with, okay?”

Tyler – well. Tyler isn’t sure he believes him, completely, and maybe it’s just captain talk. But on the other hand… maybe Tyler’s delusional, but he thinks that maybe when Jamie says do _this_ , he doesn’t just mean play hockey.

And Tyler doesn’t think Jamie’s ever lied to him.

Plus, like. Jamie doesn’t usually give anyone else on the team captain talks when both their dicks are out, either.

“Okay,” he agrees. He’ll try and believe him, if that’s what Jamie wants.

“Next year,” Jamie murmurs, wrapping Tyler up against his chest again. “We’re gonna do better next year. You and me, alright?”

“Okay,” Tyler says again. “I mean, I’m pretty – I’m proud of what we did this year too, though. I mean, I know we can do better, but. It’s a good start.”

That’s the difference, really. Tyler wasn’t sure he’d be able to _really_ believe he was part of a team, after he got traded. He’d suspected that feeling like the rug could be yanked out from under him at any time wouldn’t go away, but somehow, it had. Somehow, Jamie had made it.

Jamie’s quiet for a second, turning that over, and when he finally says “Yeah, me too,” Tyler hears something like real, genuine peace in Jamie’s voice for the first time in weeks.

“I did really like it when you spanked me, though,” Tyler says after a while, and the laugh that Jamie lets out makes him feel lighter than anything has in a long time.

“Yeah, I, uh. I’d do that again.” Jamie’s going red across the top of his cheeks, and it thrills Tyler in such a delightful way he wants to roll around like a dog.

“But you know I only want to do stuff you’re _actually_ into, right?” Jamie clarifies, voice in full Responsible territory again.

“I’m into most stuff, bro,” Tyler tells him, unable to decide if he wants to smile or roll his eyes. He kind of does both.

“Alright, well. Pick, like, your top three then.”

Tyler really _does_ laugh, then. “Alright, man. Any major no-go’s?”

Jamie scrunches up his face and thinks about it. “I don’t wanna hit you in the face. Or call you a slut. I mean, like, if you’re seriously into that–”

“I can live without it,” Tyler says. For a moment he thinks about all the stuff Jamie had said about him earlier, about him being _good_ , at hockey and shit but also just in general, and – he doesn’t know what this says about him, but that had gotten him hotter than anyone calling him a slut ever had.

“Alright,” Jamie says. He sounds – _happy_. Wow. And suddenly Tyler feels happy too, in a way he hadn’t realized was missing until it settled on him.

Jamie keeps him there pressed against his chest for a long moment, warm and snug and only making Tyler’s left arm fall asleep a tiny bit. Tyler’s about to ask Jamie to pass him the bottle of wine that’s on the side table when Jamie clears his throat and says, “But don’t call me–”

“No, I got it,” Tyler says, trying not smile. “No more d-word, I promise.”

“Cool. Good.”

Tyler can literally _hear_ the smile in Jamie’s voice. He doesn’t know if that’s something he’s ever been able to do with another person before – he’s not sure he’s ever tried, really. But Jamie’s always been different, he guesses. Jamie’s always fit with him, unexpectedly but sweetly.

Tyler might not know what he’s doing, not even a little bit, but that feels less scary, less unknown somehow with Jamie.

Maybe even exciting. Maybe even more than that.


End file.
